


it's okay not to be okay

by Setkia



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication Boys, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Insecure!Peter, M/M, Mental Illness, Mutual Pining, Peter is a Good Boyfriend, Suicide But He's Deadpool, Wade is a good boyfriend, Wade's Voices, insecure!wade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-06-10 09:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: In which Peter Parker is the new lab assistant at Stark Industries and a certain merc with a mouth wants his number. As for Peter, well, he's kinda new at this whole trying to seduce a red and black spandex wearing, katana-wielding gunslinger thing.





	1. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do that too much, and they’ll get stuck like that. No, they won’t. That’s just a bullshit thing parents say so you don’t win sass battles. I think that’s what parents say at least, never had any. Well, I mean, I did, cause duh, I exist, and storks are bullshit. But parents. Yeah, I kind of burnt mine to the ground. Anyway, point is, roll your eyes as much as you like. They’re real pretty.”
> 
> Peter frowns. “They’re brown.”
> 
> Okay, wow. Out of everything Wade’s said, he’s pretty sure that’s not the most important thing to get caught up over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags will be updated as we go. There's no set chapter count, but I realized I was basically writing a multi-chapter fic out of order, so here it is, compiled correctly. Updates are a bit slow since I wrote them in a relationship and then was like "how'd they get together?", so there are some bridges/gaps I still need to write in/fill.
> 
> The rating WILL go up, but not just yet. Then again, maybe all Deadpool things should just be rated M as a precaution.
> 
> A NOTE ON AGES:  
> Peter is 19, Wade is 32. As a Canadian, I consider Peter to be "of age", since 18 year olds in Canada can drink, drive and are considered adults (terrible, newbie adults, but legally recognized by the law adults).
> 
> This story deals with mental illness and suicidal thoughts often. This is an aspect of their relationship that I think is really important and often ignored in favour of pure fluff, or smut, but it's important to include because it's part of who Wade is, and is often written badly.
> 
> This is my attempt to write a realistic established relationship fic, where the character keep their chemistry once together and don't become 2 old souls with telepathy who solve every problem with sex.
> 
> I HAVE NOT SEEN _INFINITY WAR_. Or _Civil War_ , yes, I'm _that_ far behind in the MCU, which means I haven't seen _Homecoming_ either, which is a shame because I know Tom Holland is probably a great Spider-Man. On that note, you can envision whoever to physically be Peter, even Holland, if you want, but I want you to keep in mind that he is NOT a minor in this story.
> 
> As an overall reminder, I don't own anything _Marvel_ , because of course I don't, I'm a young adult writing fanfiction in my bedroom instead of socializing all summer.
> 
> I do request that you check out the original series, which will still be updated as well, and it's going to be a while before "new" scenes happen. If you want to know how I write Spideypool in an established relationship, then you can check out stories from _18_ onwards in my series _it's okay not to be okay,_  which will also be added to this collection once my time-line has these two idiots get together. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I always respond to comments.
> 
> FINALLY WARNINGS APPLYING TO THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> Deadpool is injured, and gets injured a few times in the story. He also commits suicide, with rather depressing thoughts.
> 
> I swear these author notes won't be that long after we get this one done.

_Here is my guide on how to be alone_  
Just act like a freak and  
Sleep with everyone you’ve ever known  
I’m half-crazy, all just cracked up  
When will what I have ever be good enough?  
_I’m sad, funny, it seems lately this ain’t a fairytale_  
And I don’t think I’ll ever be happy  
—The Maine _,[Happy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKROD3unoC0)_

  
Fuck the Iron Dildo.

Wade has some serious questions for the man. Firstly, does he have a wrench stuck up his ass? Secondly, does he feel like some sort of mechanical Jesus, overlooking New York or something? But most importantly, can he get the new lab assistant’s number?

Peter Parker is the newest addition to Stark Industries and he’s the most adorable thing Wade has ever seen. And, as a bonus, he’s _legal_. (Wade double-checked so there’s at least _one_ thing he won’t feel guilty about). He wears a lab coat that seems too big on him and he’s got the dorkiest glasses, and he wrinkles his nose when he smells blood.

It’s bad enough that Wade’s going through life with a hopeless crush on a man whose real face he’s never even seen, but now there’s a perfectly beautiful one who is walking around Stark Industries with the greatest ass imaginable, who doesn’t even bat an eyelash at him.

He finds himself storming into the building more often than usual, hoping to catch a glance of the university student (which, he knows is creepy, thank you very much _voices_ ), and loitering around labs.

He’s come in different states, sometimes he’s missing a limb, sometimes he’s missing a portion of his get-up (never his mask though, it’s almost as if there’s an all-seeing entity that knows about his insecurities, _person on the keyboard who probably has plans to force him to face them at a later date_ ), and sometimes he just strolls in through the window (doors are for chumps).

This time has to take the cake though.

Thing is, he doesn’t remember _entering_ the building. He wakes up on a cold, metal table which he thinks may be one of the most uncomfortable places to have sex, because really, sweat and metal and friction and static electricity— well, if you’re into that— wait. There’s a blinding light in his eye.

Wade blinks, trying to gather his surroundings. He’s in Stark Industries, he can _smell_ the good will, and desperation of an alcoholic man. The place _reeks_ of it.

Hold on. Quick body check.

He wiggles his toes and fingers. So he has all of his appendages, and— ah yes, _that_ one is still working too.

So he has all his limbs which means he didn’t have to cut himself loose or anything extreme like that. He can feel the spandex on his tight (not to mention _fine)_ ass, and from the way his breath seems to be self-contained, he’s still wearing his mask.

The only question left is how the fuck did he get here?

“Don’t move!”

Wade quirks an eyebrow. Well, he would if he had one.

He knows that voice.

“Alliteration Ally!” There’s a stupid grin spreading across his face.

**Wow, you’re hopeless.**

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you, them.” Wade makes sure to stay super still while he talks, which is a challenge. He likes to gesture a lot, sue him. It helps him take up more of the panel, but if Petey Parker wants him to be quiet, he will be. Speaking of Petey …. “You going to dissect me, Baby Boy?”

“Not now, Wilson.” He can _hear_ the eye roll.

“Later then?”

Peter shuffles around the room, and clicks a pen, writing on something.

“Oooh, is this my yearly checkup? We’re doing doctor role-play now, huh? I’m game. Maybe I need a prostate exam …?”

_THUNK._

Wade keeps his hands at his sides to resist rubbing his head from the collision with Peter’s clipboard. It doesn’t really hurt anyway. “You know my power’s super-healing, so you can do whatever the fuck you want with me and I’ll come back for more. I _have_ to come back for more. Think of the possibilities! I am the best partner ever to do kinky shit with!”

The light in his eyes is starting to irritate him, so he tries to sit up only to be pushed back down by Peter’s hands on his chest. The nerd is much stronger than he looks, apparently.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

“Are you going to punish me?”

Something that sounds suspiciously like tape rips.

“Sounds promising— AH!”

There’s a sharp pain in his upper abdominal area that, somehow, has gone unnoticed until now when Peter applies pressure to him.

“Do you _ever_ shut up?” demands the brunet as he comes into focus slightly, duct-tape being ripped with his teeth. His glasses are askew, his nose wrinkled, as he moves around the table and Wade flinches again.

Not duct-tape, medical tape.

“Am I injured?”

**Peter Parker is touching us. PETER FUCKING PARKER, HOTTEST NERD ALIVE IS TOUCHING US RIGHT NOW— AND HE’S HURTING US.**

Wade tries to stop himself from squirming and making a scene because _Peter fucking Parker is touching him_ , but he still winces when the young adult presses against the wound.

“What the shit, Parker?”

“Sorry,” he says and he almost sounds like he means it.

**He’s a dangerous one.**

As if Wade doesn’t already know.

“Have you taken me in like a dog in one of those family films where a broken home is fixed by an adorable, loveable canine that secretly looks like a mutt?”

The tape drops to the counter. “That should stop the bleeding.”

“Uh, have you met me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh, that stings, Parker,” Wade says. The voices are getting at him for being too honest. He kindly tells them to shut the fuck up. “But hey, I’m Deadpool. I can’t fucking die, as we’ve discussed. It’s gonna heal itself just fine in a while.”

Peter sits on top of one of the counters in the lab and Wade has changed his mind. Maybe he _wouldn’t_ mind kinky metal table sex. If it’s Parker. “You have to keep your voice down.”

“Oh, but I’m a screamer,” Wade says. “You’ll have to use that tape on my mouth. My safe word is all the lyrics to _Les Miserables_ , London Recording, of course, not the cheap stuff.”

The brunet looks over his shoulder, like he’s scared someone is going to come in at any moment and find him in Deadpool’s company, which Wade can admit, yeah, makes sense. He’s bad for anyone’s reputation.

“What’s got you on edge, Baby Boy?”

“Don’t call me that, and it’s none of your business.”

“Well, as I have to regrow my … kidney? I think it’s my kidney, I’ve got some time. So tell me, I’ll braid that gorgeous hair of yours while we’re at it. I’ve been told I have magic fingers.”

The university student rolls his eyes.

“Do that too much, and they’ll get stuck like that. No, they won’t. That’s just a bullshit thing parents say so you don’t win sass battles. I think that’s what parents say at least, never had any. Well, I mean, I _did_ , cause duh, I exist, and storks are bullshit. But parents. Yeah, I kind of burnt mine to the ground. Maybe. I dunno, the past’s kinda screwed up for me, memories get scrambled and shit. Anyway, point is, roll your eyes as much as you like. They’re real pretty.”

Peter frowns. “They’re brown.”

Okay, wow. Out of everything Wade’s said, he’s pretty sure that’s not the most important thing to get caught up over.

“So?”

“So they’re the most common eye colour in all of North America.”

“And?”

“They’re the colour of shit.”

Wade blinks. “Are we talking about the same eyes?”

Peter rubs his face, letting out a sigh. “Never mind, this is stupid. How long is it going to take you to regrow a kidney?”

“Another 10 minutes, maybe? Why, can’t wait to have your dirty way with me? I’d even let you fuck me on this table, once we clean the blood off it, of course. Unless you like the blood? Are you a blood fetish-ist? No judgement, I’m into some weird-ass shit myself. Well, I’ve been told it’s weird, I just think it’s normal. It’s a result of my trauma, so—”

“Just shut up for a minute, would you?”

Wade licks his lips. He tastes the material of his suit, which isn’t all that great. “Make me.”

“PETER?”

It’s the Iron Dildo. Realistically, Wade knew he was in the building. He just didn’t know he was so close.

Hot Nerd is panicking suddenly, running his fingers through his hair. It’s nice hair, makes Wade wish he still had his—

“You snuck me in, didn’t you?”

Peter bites his lip. It’s sinful, and the only answer Wade needs.

“You’re gonna get in trouble if Iron Can finds me, huh?” Wade swings his legs over the table and ignores the pain in his side. He’s dealt with worse. He taps on the window, and lets out a giggle of glee when it gives way. “Alright, that’s my cue—”

“Wait!”

“You’re gonna get a time-out if I linger too much so better make this quick— whoa!” Wade examines the ball of paper that’s been thrown at him like it’s some sort of totally non-aerodynamic airplane. “The fuck is this?”

“Tony … Tony said you wanted it?”

Wade smooths out the paper. It’s a number.

**Holy shitballs.**

“Is this really your—?” He trails off.

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I uh … figured what’s the harm?”

Wade frowns. “You _do_ know what I am, don’t you?”

Peter rubs his hands together awkwardly and rocks on the balls off his feet. He looks years younger suddenly, like maybe he’s a seven year old getting scolded. No wait, that was always Wade.

“Human, right?”

“I …”

“Same as me.” Peter pushes his glasses up as they start to fall down the bridge of his nose.

“PETER?”

The moment that Wade would almost call tender passes as Peter panics again and props window open more. “ _Please_ don’t go splat on the pavement. I know gravity’s a bitch, but you are not an easy person to stitch up. I only have lifeguard training, so it’s a pretty shitty job, but I’ll murder you if you tear them.”

Peter looks really hot when he swears.

**Not the time.**

Right, he’s got Iron Salt (cause his blonde eye-candy’s name is Pepper, get it?, **yeah that didn’t land too well, get more creative writer!** ) on his tail, and more importantly, on Peter’s ass. Wade wouldn’t mind having him on his ass— _FOCUS_.

He lets himself fall to the ground just as the door swings open and he can just make out:

“I heard you talking to someone”, before he hits the pavement.

He’s broken all the bones in his legs, but they’ll heal. They always do. He worms his way to the nearest alleyway to take a rest and unfolds the paper again.

He’s got Peter fucking Parker’s phone number.

He’s not sure how he’s managed it, but he’s pretty fucking proud of himself.

* * *

Wade stares at the number on the paper for way too long before he pulls out his phone and decides he’s going to send a quick text.

_hey its DP_

No, that sounds like he’s kicking down the door and screaming DOUBLE PENETRATION.

_whos your bloodthirsty merc with a mouth?_

It sounds like he’s asking who’s your Daddy, while also being a bit too honest.

_the stitches came loose_

Which, true, but it wasn’t his fault. He’s just been pacing since his legs have healed and wasting ammo on some dingy alleyway wall, trying to figure out what the fuck to say to the hot nerd and ignore the red alert screaming about red and blue spandex and sassy comebacks and— who is he kidding? He can’t ignore the thought of Spider-Man.

_Alliteration Ally, reporting for duty!_

Yeah, that sounds good.

He’s about to actually type the damn message when—

_BANG!_

There’s blood all over the damn paper now, and a hole in his phone.

Great. Fucking fantastic.

Wade turns around and unsheathes his katanas. Someone’s gonna pay, especially since he _just_ got the hot lab assistant’s number.

The one who just shot his shoulder is a man who Wade barely even registers before he’s turned into a kabob and at that point, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Well, he can always ask Peter for his number again, he supposes.

He hears footsteps round the corner and then—

“Spidey.”

The young superhero takes one look at the body on the ground and sighs. “Really, Deadpool? _Really_?”

“I had a good reason! The man just destroyed my fucking phone, and I’ve lost the second love of my life’s phone number!”

Spider-Man bends down to inspect the body, looking for ID, like he’s some sort of cop. Oh, if that isn’t another fantasy. “That’s still not a good enough excuse— love of your life?”

Wade thinks he may have said too much. Time to brush it away like he does his tears. He’s kidding. He lets those swirl down the drain with the blood. “Did ya miss me, Webs?”

Spider-Man frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you get shot.”

“No, your side is bleeding,” Spider-Man says, pointing at the side of Wade’s suit. Where the stitches were. Now they’re definitely fucked. The spandex-wearing superhero moves around the body and presses a hand to Wade’s side. “Shit, I knew — how fast is your healing factor?”

**Knew what? HE KNEW WHAT?**

“Pretty fast. Broke my legs earlier, but I’m walking just fine now.”

Spider-Man frowns. Or at least, Wade thinks he’s frowning. It’s really hard to tell, what with the mask and all.

Maybe it’s better this way. Peter Parker is a young adult with his whole future ahead of him. Tainting that with his bloodied past isn’t the best move. He doesn’t need to burden the poor kid with stuff like this. Crumpling the paper, he throws it in the air and shoots at it several times.

Well, he just lost about 3 bullets for no reason.

The paper falls to the ground and Wade steps on it, making sure he won’t look back.

 _It’s better this way,_ he tells himself as he follows Spidey out of the alleyway. May as well pretend to be a good Samaritan ( **the word is try, Wade. Though it doesn’t matter, you’ll fuck it up anyway** ), and tag along with Spidey’s patrol.

He knows he shouldn’t be going. Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man should _not_ be seen hanging out with someone like Wade Fuck-Up Wilson _,_ but as he has no impulse control, he goes along anyway.

Spider-Man seems very preoccupied with him tonight, fussing over his side and wondering if he’s got bowlegs now that he’s broken them. Wade moonwalks to prove that he’s totally capable of standing and moving as he wishes, and he’s pretty sure if the webslinger wasn’t wearing his mask, he’d be cracking a smile at some of Wade’s antics.

 _It’s better this way,_ he tells himself as he races Spider-Man to the next rooftop. He was going to ruin Peter Parker’s life if he had actually contacted him.

It feels like the universe hates him though. A beautiful guy like Peter Parker gives him his number, and he can’t call him. A hilarious, sarcastic superhero like Spider-Man has apparently decided he cares about Wade’s health tonight and he’s acting _super_ nice, but he can never know who he is.

 _It’s better this way,_ he thinks to himself when he gets home late, microwaves his food and puts the barrel to his head, even though he knows it won’t do anything in the long-run.

The gunshot is loud in the silence of the night, and he knows he’ll be up and about in a few minutes from the bullet in his brain, but the voices are quiet for once and it’s only him when he has his last thought.

_I wonder if Spidey has brown eyes …_


	2. Idea of Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Got uh … building ran into me.”
> 
> “You crashed into the side of a building?”
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “In your civilian clothes without a spec of blood on you?”
> 
> “… Yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the lyrics are not actually supposed to be in the order they are, I skipped some of the verse and went straight to the chorus. Basically, I've made myself a nice little playlist for this goddamn series without meaning to.

****_You fear all hate and being alone_  
_but hate it when someone tells you that you are loved_  
_An insecure sadness locked behind a smile_  
_Potential and beauty stuck under it all_  
_You like the idea of her  
_ _But rip away the skin_

_—_ Whitney Worsley _,[Idea of Her](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAYMFwjoWy8)_

  
Peter watches as Wade drops to the ground from what must be the thirteenth (?) story, when Tony makes his way into the room and the young hero knows the jig is up.

He shouldn’t have opted to watch as Deadpool made his way down. He should have cleaned the blood off the table, closed the window, hidden the medical tape and gone into the _right fucking lab_ because none of his equipment is here anyway, but the paper he gave the merc weighs on his conscience heavily and he finds himself unable to move.

“I heard you talking to someone.”

“Nope. Just myself,” says Peter. Seems like he’s going to try and lie his way through this. He doesn’t know why he bothers, he’s shit at lying, but he’s already devoted himself to this bullshit ruse so he may as well continue. “Teenagers tend to do that.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“I’m forever young.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow. Peter can’t blame him.

“And I suppose the blood is yours too?”

“Yup.” He pops the P way too much. “Got uh … building ran into me.”

“You crashed into the side of a building?”

“Yeah.”

“In your civilian clothes without a spec of blood on you?”

“… Yes?”

The man behind the Arc Reactor does not seem impressed. Probably because the multi-billionaire has already saved his own life by ripping a hole in his chest to save himself from shrapnel poisoning in the middle of fucking who knows where while being threatened by a terrorist organization to design weapons for them, and Peter is just a small, gawky, not to mention awkward nerd who has been given permission to wander around his lab and feel important, and occasionally helps old ladies’ cross the street while wearing spandex.

“He was here, wasn’t he?”

“Playing the pronoun game, huh? What if they don’t conform to the gender binary norm?”

“Peter.”

The brunet sighs. “Yes.”

“I thought I told you—”

“He was hurt! I was coming in for my shift when he got hit by this car and he kind of … flew a few streets back with the impact, and I went to make sure he was okay, but he was bleeding a lot and I thought he was dead, so I just …. It’s a hero’s job to help people, right?”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose in that way that says he’s getting too old for this shit. “You know what he is, don’t you?”

“A mercenary.”

“That means he _kills people_.”

“I know,” the brunet says. “He does it for a living. Our moral code doesn’t allow for that. But so what? It’s a dirty job, and someone has to do it, right?”

Tony shakes his head. “You’re too young, you don’t understand—”

“Too young?” Peter echoes. He can point out that he’s lost way more than anyone should have to in the span of four years. He could mention that every time he goes to see Aunt May, he’s terrified someone will follow him, find out his identity and kill her. He can talk about his insomnia, and his nightmares and the bottle of pills he’s bought, but has never touched. He can interject Tony’s “too young” argument with any of those things, but he bites them all back and swallows a large lump in his throat. “Maybe.”

“He’s bad news. And it’s not because he kills people.”

Peter isn’t convinced.

“I mean, that’s part of it, but it’s not the whole thing. He’s sick, Peter. Can’t you tell?”

“I don’t …” Peter frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not normal,” Tony spits out. “And I’m not talking like frozen over in ice for over half a century. He hears voices, and he kills for fun, in the most creative ways because he doesn’t feel remorse. He doesn’t know what _guilt_ is. Wade Wilson will kill anyone for the right price. He has no moral compass, he doesn’t value human life. If you spook him, he’ll put a gun to your head, and won’t think twice about pulling the trigger.”

“He’s unpredictable.”

“Yes.”

“And what, you’re scared of him because of that?” Peter rolls his eyes. “That’s stupid.”

He wonders how late Pepper has kept him up, going through papers and worksheets. Peter doubts that Tony has the same amount of time to … _de-stress_ as he had before, so he’s pretty pent up. He hasn’t been sleeping, which, neither has Peter, but he’s still ready to go for this argument, even if he doesn’t want to.

Tony looks around the room, taking in the blood, the open window, the medical tape, and Peter. It’s like a shitty game of Clue, superhero style.

“How tight did you do the stitches?”

Peter lets out a sigh of relief. They’re not going to further this argument anymore for today. “Tight as I could. It’s kind of hard to tell what was injured, and what was just … always like that? I did my best.”

Tony nods slowly and runs his fingers through his hair. Peter’s pretty sure he’s starting to see speckles of grey, but he won’t mention it. He knows that’ll probably just spell trouble. “Alright. Disinfect the table, okay?” He gestures with a lazy hand, then turns on his heel, and leaves.

This feels wrong. Like Tony is trying to guilt-trip him into feeling bad about _helping someone._

It’s what heroes do, it’s part of their job. Heroes don’t discriminate, do they? A life is a life, and a life saved is always better than a life lost. It took him a while, but he eventually learnt that you can’t balance lives. Every life you save does not make up for one lost, because some lives mean more than others, but no life is worth nothing.

If this is because he wasn’t wearing his suit, then that’s just stupid. Maybe he wasn’t dressed up like Spider-Man, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have Spider-Man’s powers. He and Peter are the same person.

Except they’re not.

He feels better with the suit, feels more at confident with himself, able to do what he wants because no one knows him when he’s wearing it. No one can see his face, tell when he’s embarrassed, or unsure. Everyone trusts people in suits, for some reason.

Without it, his bravado is gone. The insecurities seep in and are visible all over his face. The thrill, the adrenaline of the fight is gone, and he’s left bare, and unsure. He has Spider-Man’s _powers_ , but he’s not Spider-Man, because Spider-Man _doesn’t exist_. He’s a projection of everything Peter wishes he could be; self-assured, confident, brave, fearless.

He’s not that. And it sucks because he’s never more aware of it than when Tony is with him. Because Tony doesn’t see the superhero that Peter has been trying so hard to be for the past four years. Tony sees a boy. He sees a boy who needs to be protected, who gets ahead of himself and gets cocky sometimes when he shouldn’t be. Someone who doesn’t sleep as often as he should, who worries through classes and is terrified of anyone finding out his secret. Tony sees a boy who has no idea what to do with himself half the time and is only half-sure the rest of the time.

Tony sees _him_ , and Peter hates himself.

The thing about Wade Wilson is he knows Spider-Man, but he doesn’t know _shit_ about Peter. And while Peter lays awake at night, staring at the ceiling wondering why the _fuck_ he likes a man who carries around katanas like they’re the newest fashion trend, and shoots people’s heads off like he’s a video game character with infinite lives, but more importantly, he wonders why Deadpool would like _him_.

And the answer is, Deadpool _doesn’t_. Not the real him, anyway.

Maybe it’s cruel, but he wants to test him. See if Deadpool would be interested in _Peter_ , all dorky glasses, two-left-feet, bumbling idiot with a biochem major and a shitty apartment full of microwaveable dinners and a tendency to cry during 1980 rom-coms.

When you take away Spider-Man’s mask, and reveal the man beneath you find Peter Parker, a very scared boy who has no idea where the fuck he’s going.

He can’t stand letting Wade in, only for Wade to be disappointed with what he finds.

So this is a test. Give him his number, see if he calls.

He knows better than to hope, but just maybe, if Wade can settle for someone like Peter Parker, then maybe there’s hope for them yet.

* * *

 

There’s a dead body on the ground, and, to no one’s surprise, Deadpool is standing over it.

Peter is under no illusions of who Wade is. He kills people, and he thinks it’s fun. Deadpool tells him about the games he plays when he goes out on jobs. Sometimes he likes to see if he can shoot them to the beat of a song, or how many idiots can he get to line up in a single row? He’s a killer. It’s a fact.

Peter’s stopped running away from blood a long time ago.

So he sighs and asks what the fuck Wade’s been doing, because _really_?

Wade says something about a busted phone, and the love of his life and then Peter’s stomach sinks.

He can barely make out his messy, panicked scrawl on the bloodied piece of paper.

He wonders if it would be too eager to ask if Deadpool plans on calling him. He swallows down the words and focuses instead on torn stitches at Wade’s side. He knew he should’ve done them up tighter, but he had no idea when the mutant was going to come-to and he didn’t want to risk a sword to the throat.

Deadpool tags along and maybe Peter fusses a lot over the fact that the man _broke his fucking legs_ jumping out a window, and maybe he’s super touchy today, but to be fair, he _did_ find him dead on the ground just a few hours earlier.

He knows not to expect a text from Wade, his phone is busted and Peter’s number has been turned into a bloodstain that’s probably in the trash somewhere. Maybe he’ll ask for it again.

He’s going to have to ask. Peter nearly threw up giving it to him today.

He probably won’t. He wonders if Deadpool was joking about the whole “love of his life” thing. Probably. It’s Deadpool. You never know what to expect with him. He tries to calm himself, remind himself rationally that this makes sense.

Wade Wilson wouldn’t want some goody-two-shoes dork like Peter Parker.

He _knows_ that.

He realizes, to his horror, while staring at the ceiling that while he knew, he had still hoped otherwise.

Seems he won’t be sleeping tonight either.


	3. Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So we’ve got a few choices here. I could kidnap him, releasing him under the condition that he goes out with you, and buys me a chimichanga, cause you know, I’ve got to eat. Ruining his reputation on social media is always an option. Or I could turn him into the SnapChat ghost, if you get my drift?”
> 
> Spider-Man laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “Any less violent options?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will have 20 parts. One-shots that were previously published have slight adjustments to them once posted here in order to fit the new, more concrete timeline. There's not a linear plot, so much as a time-line of events, as it did originate as a collection of one-shots.

_A stomach full of pills didn't work again,_  
_I’ll put a bullet in my head and I’m gone, gone, gone, gone._  
_I’m sitting on the edge with my two best friends,_  
_One’s a bottle of pills, one’s a bottle of gin,_  
_I’m 20 stories up, yeah, I’m up at the top,_  
_I’ll polish off this bottle, now it’s pushing me off,_  
_Asphalt to me has never looked so soft,_  
_Believe me when I tell you I’ve been persistent,_  
_‘Cause I’m more scarred, more scarred than my wrist is,_  
_I’ve been trying too long, with too dull a knife  
_ _But tonight I made sure that I sharpened it twice_

—Hollywood Undead, _[Bullet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lP077RitNAc)_

  
The huge hassle of getting to the top of a skyscraper in New York City is worth the view of the skyline of the city he terrorizes.

Unlike every other hero that Fury has snatched up in New York, Wade’s abilities do _not_ include scaling large, vertical man-made structures with ease. He’s not sure if he’s in such good shape because of the jobs he takes, or because he never finishes a day off without a high view of the city. Maybe it’s none of those things and it’s the healing factor, reverting his body to the exact shape he was in before Weapon X. He was in great shape for someone with cancer.

Can he get more cliché? Finding a second home in one of the largest cities in the continental US. Though Canada always comes first to him, without realizing it he’s put down roots in the Big Apple.

Wade has always had wanderlust. Never satisfied to stay anywhere for too long, always moving onto the next place. A man, as long as he can remember (though that isn’t much), who has lived out his suitcase. He’s never been book smart, but he’s learnt quite a few things out on the streets. He has a very specific skill set, one that makes him a source of confusion for the Avengers because he doesn’t exactly do _bad_ things, so much as he does the right things in the _wrong_ way.

He’s fine with his strange moral code that no one but himself understands. It makes life easier when you see things in black and white.

It’s a bit ironic, but Wade’s shit at healing.

He’s learnt how to walk off the bullets, how to get back to his feet after it hits the bone. He’s learnt how to pretend his ankle isn’t unstable, how to walk off the shots to his stomach without flinching.

He has a high pain tolerance.

No, he’s good at _pretending_ he has a high pain tolerance.

The reality is always the contrary.

Doing his job hurts like a motherfucker, but someone has to do it, and it certainly won’t be the Goody-Two-Shoe Avengers who’ll step up to the plate. His special power isn’t pain tolerance, it’s healing. Which means he feels it.

Every gunshot, every stab wound, every concussion and torture method. And until it heals, it’s a throbbing pain that makes him numb. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he can still feel pain. It doesn’t mean anything to him anymore, because even when he’s not taking a hit from someone else, he feels the cells.

Cancer isn’t a thing you live with and never feel. There’s a reason you go to the doctor and feel fear when they tell you that dull ache you’ve been feeling is your body’s way of failing to take care of you. Being diagnosed with cancer gives a name to the pain, it doesn’t solve anything.

Wade is a patient, and a doctor all at once. He is always sick, and always healing. He’s kind of shit at both though.

The only time he feels _good_ is with a bullet through his head. Which, sounds super depressing, he’s fully aware, but he’s pretty sure he has one of the worst powers there is. Sure, he can never get sick, and from the way he keeps regenerating like he’s still on the cusp of his thirty-third birthday, he can never grow old, but he’s in constant pain. He’s become immortal when the only thing he wants to do with die.

His curse isn’t the cancer, or the healing. It’s the life he can’t stop living.

“What are you doing up here?”

Wade turns around to see Spider-Man right next to him. He never heard him approach.

“Spidey Baby!”

“Don’t, Wade,” says the superhero. “I’m on patrol, what’s your excuse?”

“Wanted to see the sunrise.”

**Liar.**

_What else is new?_

They sit in silence for a while, Spidey taking a seat next to him and folding up his legs. They’re nice legs. Wade used to have nice legs.

Suddenly, Spider-Man clears his throat.

“Uh, you’re um … you’re pan, right?”

Wade blinks. “Where’s this coming from, Webs?”

Spider-Man rolls his eyes. “Urgh, never mind.”

“No, I am,” the merc says quickly. It’s almost like Spidey’s in a sharing mood, which _never_ happens when Wade’s around, so he’ll capitalize on it when he can. “Got a question for an LGBTQ+ friend?”

“I just … you’ve been with … guys, before, right?”

“Yeah.” _When I was pretty. When people liked me. If they ever did._ “Got your eye on someone?” He’s trying to keep the curiosity and hope out of his voice, but he doubts it’s working.

“Maybe. I just … I gave this guy my number and …” Spider-Man bites his lip through his mask, and the mutant watches as the fabric pulls before he lets it go. “Well, he … he hasn’t called and … I don’t know …” He shrugs. “I was hoping he would.”

Well Wade knows it definitely isn’t him, which is great, he’ll have no trouble keeping the bastard dead for doing this to his Spidey. Not that Spidey’s an object that can be owned, or have a price put on him, because he’s not. He’s his own independent being who also happens to like a guy, which might make Spidey bi? But either way, that guy isn’t Wade, and it’ll probably never be Wade, especially since he looks the way he does and there’s the whole killing thing to consider.

“So you’re having boy problems?”

“Oh my God, I regret this entire conversation,” Spider-Man says, swinging his legs over the side of the building, but there’s no malice in his voice. He sounds … playful. This just hurts more.

“No, you’ve come to the love guru Wade for help, and help I shall give.” _As I tear my heart apart even more_. The gun in his holster is really appealing suddenly. “So we’ve got a few choices here. I could kidnap him, releasing him under the condition that he goes out with you, and buys me a chimichanga, cause you know, I’ve got to eat. Ruining his reputation on social media is always an option. Or I could turn him into the SnapChat ghost, if you get my drift?”

Spider-Man laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. “Any less violent options?”

“You could forget about him and date me.”

_Shit._

“Or not. Cause you know, my experience would _totally_ scare you out of your wits. I can make pocket watches sexual. I’m Harkness levels of seduction above the rest.” Wade really hopes the pause between his last comment wasn’t too long. “Yeah, it’s better if you don’t date me. The weird-ass kinks I’d get your innocent little self wrapped up in are like the plot of a really bad porno. But like, a good one, because _I’d_ be in it, cause you know, healing basically means no refectory period and I have told you _way_ too much about my dick, haven’t I? See, this is why I’d be a terrible boyfriend.”

Along with literally everything else about Wade.

“I should come with a warning label, you know. Not for the faint of heart, or something like that. Or like, traumatized by others, ready to traumatize you. That is, if you could get it up after looking at my face. Then again, you could totally not be into sex while liking guys, which is totally a thing. You could only want to have sex with chicks and still think guys are on fleek. Is that still a thing people say?”

**Shut the fuck up.**

That may be the only good piece of advice his voices have ever given him, and so for once, he does as they tell him to, clamping harshly down on his jaw.

Spidey is silent. For some reason, he hasn’t jumped to another building or pushed Wade off, though he’s pretty sure it’s just cause Wade’s got dibs on this one, since you know, got here first and all that.

It’s immature of him, but he starts whistling. Anything to get rid of the silence, when Spider-Man speaks up.

“You’re off-key.”

Wade snorts. “How can I be off-key if I’m not singing?”

“You just _are_.”

“Listen, I’m about to talk seriously, which you know I _never_ do, so this is super important.” Wade takes a deep breath and musters every bit of courage he has, ignoring the pain, like he always does. “Be like Nike and just do it. If you like him that much, then he’d be an idiot not to go for you, and if he’s a really big dick, I’ll make sure he can never use his again. Deal?”

Spidey grins.

“Deal.”

Wade can almost _hear_ his heart break as he shakes his hand.

Spidey goes off with a little spring in his web as he goes off to fight crime around the neighbourhood and Wade is left alone at the top with a gun, and a fun game of Russian Roulette to partake in.


	4. Just Might Change Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I guess we’re hiding a dead body together …”
> 
> “Take me out a date first, why don't you?” Deadpool chuckles.
> 
> “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter, you are SUCH a dork.

_You're on the edge now take one step_  
_And you just might find you'll fly_  
_You never know what will happen next_  
_Don't be afraid to let go this time  
_ _It just might change your life_

—Sidewalk Prophet, _[Just Might Change Your Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiBKlU6yzIM)_

  
_You can do this. You’re Spider-fucking-Man, you swing from webs and take down bad guys with guns and make it home in time for dinner. Asking Wade Wilson out on a date is the least scary thing you’ll do today._

It’s a pathetic pep talk, and it’ll probably all be for naught. Peter’s been trying to psych himself up to ask the merc out for the last week, but something always goes wrong. It’s not procrastination, he just wants to get it over with, find his answer and be done with it, but the universe is conspiring against him to draw this out as long as possible.

To be fair, there are a certain set of circumstances which have to be met in order for him to even ask out Wade.

One: he has to see the mutant in the first place, which doesn’t _sound_ that bad, but since he’s still nervous about investing himself into a relationship where he doesn’t know if Wade would like the man _behind_ the mask, he has to be out of uniform when he meets him. Which means Peter can’t search him out, because Wade still doesn’t know that Peter _is_ Spider-Man, and all of their meet-ups happen at Stark Industries, with Wade in a less-than-perfect state. Unless while walking home Deadpool just happens to _fall from the sky_ , Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to ask the man out without the aid of his alter-ego.

Two: Peter has to be feeling confident that day. This doesn’t happen often, because as much as he’s been giving himself pep-talks, they don’t always do him much good. He’ll be confident at 2 PM, but Deadpool will come crashing through the window at 4, and by then it’s gone.

Three: Deadpool can’t be _too_ injured, or else Peter may puke. Peter can only handle so many levels of gore before his stomach decides to drop out. On the off chance that he’s feeling confident and Deadpool visits, chances are the merc is missing half of his body and Peter’s forced to stare as the tissue starts to mend itself. Regenerating is not like how the Doctors do it, it’s pretty painful and gory to watch. He doubts it’s the perfect setting for a love confession. Not that he’s in love, because he’s a nineteen year old kid who barely understands _Love, Actually,_ and still makes _Doctor Who_ references like that’s a cool thing. What does he know about love?

With all three parameters in place, Peter’s ready to “just do it”, like Deadpool told him to, but the trifecta just never seems to happen.

Requirement number two is hard to come by because Peter can’t even _pretend_ to know what Wade’s reaction to his request would be. He can see the man being nice in letting him down, telling him that he just doesn’t go for his type, but he could equally see him laughing in his face, or offering a quick fuck, something Peter’s considered, but decided against.

Maybe all these requirements are stupid and he _is_ procrastinating. Being a superhero is hard enough without bringing in the normal stuff like _dating_ into the mix., though he can’t imagine _not_ being a hero. He doubts he’d get to know Wade as well as he does without the mask.

Peter’s setting up his camera in Central Park when he hears “Slow the fuck down! You’d think 3 bullets to the leg would stop you, but oh no, you’re a springy one, aren’t ya?”

He knows that voice.

Turning towards the noise, he sees Deadpool chasing after a man who is visibly limping, though he has to say Wade’s right, he is quite springy as he leaves a trail of blood behind him with each desperate gait.

_BANG!_

The other leg is shot and the man wobbles, nearly collapsing.

_BANG!_

Another bullet and the man is down, Deadpool stopping over his body with his hands on his hips. As an outsider looking in, Peter wonders if he looks that stupid when he’s running around in spandex in a crowded area. He’s usually so focused on his adrenaline rush and making sure to catch the bad guy that he never thinks about what he looks like to other people. Deadpool does look rather ridiculous.

“You’re a little motherfucker, aren’t ya, you bastard?” Deadpool asks, leaning closer to the man. “Don’t know what’s so special about you, little piece of shit, but one more bullet and Daddy’s gonna be a whole lot richer.”

Peter knows this is what Wade does. He’s just never _seen_ it like this before, up close and personal, without his suit, without any adrenaline clouding his judgement. _This_ is what makes him dangerous, he realizes. The man is begging for mercy and Wade is cackling, humming a little song as he presses his gun to the man’s temple and chides him for making a mess of such a nice park, oh look, he’s scaring the civilians.

Peter bites his lip.

He’s liked men before, Deadpool is not the first, though he’s the first he’s ever liked and wanted to _do_ something about. He’s also liked dangerous women before, but Deadpool is in a whole different category.

He can’t let him kill like this, not in broad daylight, not while there are children around. This may be what Wade does, this may be Wade’s job, but he can’t do this _here_ , not on Peter’s watch.

_Click._

“Did you just take a pic— Alliteration Ally!” Wade cries when he notices Peter. “How you doing?” The man beneath him makes a groan, but Deadpool crushes his foot against his chest. “You ain’t going nowhere, buster,” he reprimands the one in the grass. “Good day? Nice weather we’re having. Mr. Pool’s got work to do though, so mind looking away? I don’t want to offend your innocent eyes.”

“There are _children_ ,” says Peter, glancing at a family picnic. “If you have to kill him, kill him, but not _here_ , okay?”

“You look so cute when you get all Justice-y,” Wade says. “At this stage though, he’ll probably bleed out.” He digs his foot into the man’s chest some more and there’s a hitch of breath, before it’s gone. Before _he’s_ gone. “You gonna help me get rid of the body?”

Peter wrinkles his nose. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Deadpool blinks. “You always have a choice.”

Peter gets the feeling they’re not talking about the body anymore.

“Right. Erm …” _Great, now your hands are all sweaty, great fucking go, idiot._ Peter gestures to the dead body. “So I guess we’re hiding a dead body together …”

“Take me out a date first, why don't you?” Deadpool chuckles.

“Okay.”

_Shit shit shit that is not what I meant to say._

“I meant …” _Fuck it. Be like Nike and just do it._ “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Do you wanna go out some time?”

Wade is in the middle of trying to lift the rather large, dead man’s body up, when he drops it at Peter’s words. On his foot.’

“Mother— _dearest_ ,” says Wade catching sight of a little girl and her mother walking a dog. “Mother Theresa, nature is beautiful!” Leaning against the body like this is some _Weekend At Bernie’s_ shit, he starts to play with the limp arms as if the horrified mother doesn’t see his two guns and katanas, not to mention the bullet holes in Mr. Bleda. The pair walk faster as Peter takes his camera bag and tries not to gag at the blood.

“C’mon, let’s just get this guy in here.” He knows his voice sounds stiff, it’s what happens when there’s so much _blood_ , like they’re painting the grass red.

Deadpool follows his lead, stuffing the man into the bag a bit too violently. The man’s already dead, he shouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Peter tries not to think about how he’s going to explain this to Aunt May, or what he’s going to have to do in order to get rid of the blood stains. This is why he wears red.

The two of them leave Central Park in the most inconspicuous way they can, considering they have a dead body in Peter’s camera bag, with his stuff in Deadpool’s arms, with the tripod awkwardly positioned over his shoulder.

“You sure you don’t want me to carry that?”

“It’s fine.” Peter is stronger than he looks, otherwise he can’t be Spider-Man. But wait. Maybe he should let Deadpool help, otherwise it’s a bit weird for a nerd like him to be carrying the weight of a fully grown man. “Unless you want to help. I mean, I’m not like, pathetic and need someone to help me or anything but I do need to use my back for other things and since you _are_ the one with the healing factor maybe it’d be better if you— just take the bag.”

They swap objects and Peter feels comfort in knowing that his camera won’t be accidentally damaged by Wade’s well-meaning, but indelicate hands.

“So, are we going to throw it in the river or something?”

“Nah, I’m thinking incinerate it.”

“Won’t someone ask about the smell?”

“Do you think an ordinary civilian can identify the scent of burning flesh?”

“Touché.”

The two of them walk in silence a bit longer.

“So what are we doing to do with it?” asks Peter finally.

“It’s not what _we’re_ going to do with it, it’s what _I_ ’ll do with it, and I’ll figure something out. I always do. Maybe I’ll make it look like a normal homicide.”

“With that many bullet holes?”

“Good point. I could always visit Dr. Lector, lend him a hand. To eat. That was a terrible joke. Okay, moving on, why are you still here?”

“Because the body’s in my camera bag?” Peter points out. “I kind of can’t just carry this. I have a set up.” He rolls his eyes. “Besides, can’t I watch a hero do hero shit?”

“You’re a civilian,” Deadpool says and Peter knows he shouldn’t laugh, but he does anyway because Wade is trying to be “responsible”, and is using fancy language, but he’s literally talking to Spider-Man right now, not that he knows it. “You shouldn’t get mixed up in … _this_.”

“What if I want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Get mixed up in _this_ ,” says Peter, gesturing to the air. “I mean, considering I’m in who knows where in New York City with a dead body in my birthday present from last year, I’d say I’m pretty invested in this. Do you think I hide dead bodies with just _anybody_?”

Wade scratches his head, and cranes his neck. Though his eye holes are essentially just white, Peter can still see the battle behind them.

Maybe Wade isn’t interested in geeky Peter Parker. Maybe the problem is that even though Deadpool can go for anyone, he just doesn’t want Peter. Peter can live with that. He has to. And it’s a good thing he’s realized this before he got too infested like an idiot and imagined introducing him to Aunt May and coming up with five different plausible reasons for his appearance. Yeah, good thing he didn’t do that.

“Never mind—”

“I’m not …” Wade’s quiet, the self-assuredness of his voice is nowhere to be found as he awkwardly shuffles his feet in the cement, like he’s trying to dig himself an escape. “I’m not _good_ for people. Anyone really. I’d be a pretty sucky boyfriend. I mean, in the bad way. And well, the good way too. But like, mostly the bad.”

Peter laughs. “No harm in trying, is there?”

“I don’t … I don’t know.” And he really does sound like he has no idea. He twiddles his thumbs, like he’s thirteen and unsure what to do with a paperclip, as if he’s not sure if he wants to attach papers, or pick a lock. “Can I … can I get back to you on that?”

Peter takes Wade’s arm, without question, and uncaps a pen he stole from the lab. Stark Industries makes really good quality pens, okay? “I’m gonna write my number on you, so you don’t lose it, okay?”

“I erm, I don’t have a phone,” Wade admits sheepishly. “It kind of got … busted.”

Peter remembers. “Well, I’m sure you can get a new one. Would you rather we meet up sometime at my work to give me your answer?” He’s willing to make this work, he’ll do whatever it takes to get a solid answer out of Wade, because he _needs to know if this can be something_.

“Yeah … okay.”

Peter smiles.

  
Wade drops by Stark Industries more often, but he doesn’t give him an answer. Peter doesn’t press him for one, but he flirts a bit more. Or tries to. He’s kind of new at this whole trying to seduce a red and black spandex wearing, katana-wielding gunslinger thing.

Seduction, at least in Peter Parker’s case, means using terrible pick-up lines that he’s sure even Deadpool wouldn’t try, trying to wink excessively, and making way too many _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ references that can be considered cute. Wade is responsive, as if Wade’s ever _not_ responsive, and then one day while Peter’s trying to get the merc to sit still because he moves like he’s a three year old being strapped to an electric chair when you try and put polysporin on a wound, he just does it, like in Nike.

“Usually I wait till date three before I touch someone’s legs like this,” Peter remarks as he spreads the ointment around the hole in Deadpool’s costume which is the stupidest thing on Earth, but it’s the only way the merc lets him take care of him, even remotely. Just because he heals, he seems to think tending to his wounds like a normal person is totally pointless.

“We can go dutch at a Mexican place I know down on 5th for the first, if you want. I’m classy like that, and forward-thinking.”

Peter scoffs. “First what?”

“Date.”

He squeezes way too much out of the tube then, and Wade laughs.

“Don’t lube me up till at least date four. But if you ask nicely, I may be persuaded by date two.”

Peter grabs a towel and begins to wipe off the excess oil. Tony is going to kill him if he wastes resources. “I uh … what?”

“If the offer’s still on the table, that is.” There’s something different about his voice.

_Oh my God._

“Are you nervous?”

“What? Me?” Deadpool rolls his white, pupil-less eyes. “As if!”

“You are!”

“I’ll have you know I haven’t had to do anything like this for like, the past decade, so excuse me for being a bit rusty,” Wade snaps. “If you reject me too meanly, I’ll break those pretty little glasses of yours, you little shit head.”

Peter laughs, and he’s not sure if it’s because Wade’s being his usual, hilarious self, or if it’s to get rid of the nerves. Probably both. “Oh, not my glasses!”

“I’m sure you’d look fly as hell with contacts,” Wade assures him. “Scratch that. Keep the glasses. Take them off, you’ll be like Clark Kent. Wait, wrong universe. Fuck, I’m a traitor. Though it serves DC right for that CGI piece of crap they put on my face …”

Sometimes Wade talks and Peter doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. He likes the way the mutant’s voice sounds, animated and lively, and always so fucking excited, like every story is the best thing since sliced bread.

“So is this your way of saying you’d be onboard with dating me?”

Wade kicks his feet back and lays on the medical table. Tony’s going to get on his ass about this again, he just knows it. It’ll be worth it though. “So? On the table? Off the table?”

“What about against the wall?”

Wade’s mouth opens into a perfect O, and he covers it with his gloved hands. “My my, Mr. Petey Pie, you’re a dirty one, aren’t you? Will you still respect me in the morning?” demands the now-Southern sounding belle, with a dramatic flair that is unmatched.

“Question is, will you respect _me_?”

Wade laughs. “See, this is what I like about you, Petey. You bite as much as you bark. And I bite too. Only if you say please, though.”

The university student laughs, tossing his head back. “Alright. Wade Wilson, will you _please_ go on a date with me?”

“Not what I meant but … I’ll see what I can do.”

Peter is the first to admit he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, but there are some things he _does_ know.

He loves the way Wade laughs with his whole body, and has the ability to smile even as his arm is literally falling off. The merc likes to sing really loud oldies rock into the barrel of a gun like it’s a microphone, and uses his victim’s blood as lubricant when he does the electric slide.

Peter doesn’t have to know what he’s doing, since he’s pretty sure Wade has even less of a clue than he does, which is fine. He can’t be Spider-Man without taking a few risks.

Something tells him Wade will be the best risk he ever takes.


	5. (un)Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Reasons Why Going Out With Peter Parker Is The Worst Fucking Thing You Could Do (And You Kill People To Death Numerous Times)**

_I’m not looking for anything in particular_  
_But I’m far more desperate than you think_  
_I wonder what it’s like to be the universe_  
_Experiencing itself ironically_  
_I need some space to run around_  
_I’ll always have the underground_  
_I’ll build my road despite the cost_  
_I’m not looking to be found_  
_No, not at all_  
_Unaware of where I’m going_  
_Or if I’m going anywhere at all_  
_But I know I’ll take the leap_  
_If it is worth the fall_  
_So long as the blood keeps flowing_  
_I’ll set a sail and swim across_  
_I’m not looking to be found  
_ _Just want to feel (un) lost_

—The Maine, [(un)Lost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1Gyi4J4gIM/)

_  
_ It’s as Wade is carrying a dead body in a camera bag with gorgeous Peter Parker by his side that he realizes the universe has a really fucked up sense of humour.

There’s a part of him that’s always known that, but this is a bit much. This means if there is a God, he _hates_ Wade with every fibre of his being, which, fine, there’s a long list of people who want Wade Wilson dead, but is this really the retribution he gets just caused he fucked with Death?

This is a weird-ass cosmic joke, it has to be.

First, he falls in love with some unattainable masked man in spandex whose real name is completely unknown to _anyone_ , though he suspects Tony Stark knows (That man knows _everything_ ), then he starts to get a crush on the attractive, geeky lab assistant who he can’t call because the Canadian lives a life of complete _ruin._

As if to rub everything in his face, turns out Spidey (see aforementioned hot spandex-wearing hero) isn’t as straight as Wade thought, which means it’s not because he’s a guy, it’s because he’s _Wade_ , which sure, that’s been the reason a lot of the time, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. Not only is Spidey as straight as wet spaghetti, he’s ass over tit for some douche who won’t call him, and Wade, the fucking masochist he is, _encouraged him to go for it_.

And now, as the cherry on top of the proverbial diabetes-inducing sundae that is Wade’s lactose-intolerant life, the man is _still here._ When he asks why, Peter rolls his eyes.

“Because the body’s in my camera bag? I kind of can’t just carry this,” he gestures to all he’s carrying, “on its own. I have a set up. Besides, can’t I watch a hero do hero shit?”

Wade stops himself from saying something Edward Cullen-esque, like “I’m not a hero” because the author’s trying to write something better than that.

He settles on “you’re a civilian.” This is the very thing Wade wanted to avoid. A university student as bright and good as Peter does not need to get involved in the train wreck that’s Wade Wilson. “You shouldn’t get mixed up in … _this_.”

“What if I want to?”

**He doesn’t mean that the way you think he does.**

_But what if he does?_

**Play dumb. It’s what you’re good at.**

“Want to what?”

“Get mixed up in _this_. I mean, considering I’m in who knows where New York City with a dead body in my birthday present from last year, I’d say I’m pretty invested int his. Do you think I hide dead bodies with just _anybody_?”

He knows it’s a joke, but honestly, Wade has a pretty short list of those he hides bodies with. Sometimes he’ll help out Jackman if they put him in the movie, and he’s feeling up to it.

The thing is Wade’s life has been a series of disappointments, possibly since his first breath. Maybe. Again, memory is kind of fuzzy. Point is, things aren’t always sunny in WadeVille ( **that’s a shitty name, writer think of something better** ), more often than not the forecast calls for rain and depression and a spiralling vortex of existential crisis 24/7. He can’t take him seriously, because this is most probably a joke at his own expense and while Wade’s used to it, he never expected it from _Peter_ , and that kind of hurts more than it should. But it’s also _Peter_ , who wears plaid underneath his lab coat and has clunky glasses and eyes that remind him of coco and sometimes, in the right light, dried blood (which _is_ romantic, at least to Wade).

He opens his mouth when—

“Never mind—”

“I’m not …” He _hates_ when this happens. When he sounds as insecure as the voices make him, because sure, he acts like Mr. Confident, but he’s not, not that anyone ever has to _know_ that. But apparently the universe has decided that today, with a camera bag that’s beginning to smell, he’s laying his cards on the table. Because if this isn’t a joke, if he isn’t dreaming, or even if he is, he just might take this offer, and he wants sweet Peter to know what he’s getting into. “I’m not _good_ for people. Anyone really. I’d be a pretty sucky boyfriend. I mean, in the bad way. And well, the good way too. But like, mostly the bad way.”

Peter laughs, and it’s beautiful as he tosses his head back and his neck, Wade could just _bite it and—_ **take back the vampire comment. Ignore it. It never happened.**

_Agreed._

“No harm in trying, is there?”

He’s so naive. He doesn’t know, does he? About the dangers of the world and why this is quite possibly the worst idea that brilliant, _genius_ brain has ever had. He’s done tons of stupid shit he sort of regrets from when he was his age, because _fuck_ how has not thought about age? Sure, he’s _legal_ , doesn’t mean that Wade getting up in his face with his shitload of problems is okay just cause he won’t end up in jail if they end up fucking on a couch, not that they would since Peter has to have _standards_ of some kind and Wade knows he doesn’t meet any. “I don’t … I don’t know. Can I … can I get back to you on that?”

**Holy shitballs, he’s touching us.**

“I’m gonna write my number on you, so you don’t lose it, okay?”

Wade’s on cloud nine as Peter scribbles onto his suit and Wade makes a note to make sure his right arm doesn’t go flying off any time until he can get back to his place and write it down on a few thousand pieces of paper so he won’t forget it anytime soon until he remembers. “I erm, I don’t have a phone. It kind of got … busted.”

“Well, I’m sure you can get a new one.” **That’s true. We do have money. More once we find the asshole who hired us for the dude who’s staining Baby Boy’s birthday gift.** “Would you rather we meet up sometime at my work to give me your answer?”

Wade _thinks_ he says something in confirmation cause he’s not quite sure whether or not what’s happened has actually happened because _holy shit his life is never this good._

He gets paid for the job, and writes down the number on fifteen paper napkins before he washes the camera bag. He checks about five internet sources to figure out how to get blood stains out of it, so that he knows when all five agree, he knows he isn’t fucking it up and leaves it in Stark’s office for Peter to pick up.

Then starts the thinking.

There is so much to consider here. So much.

 

He’s written Peter’s number so many times, it’s almost like he’s a serial killer— well, he _is_ , but he’s _way_ cooler than Dexter. H.H Holmes though, he’d pay to see him do his work— _wait, focus._

It’s not a dream, he doesn’t think. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s a really convincing hallucination. That doesn’t change the fact that the voices fight him every step of the way in the form of a very helpful reminder that’s rather organized for them, Wade’s almost impressed.

It’s a mental list in his head that he ends up writing down called **Reasons Why Going Out With Peter Parker Is The Worst Fucking Thing You Could Do (And You Kill People To Death Numerous Times)**

Listed in no particular order are the following:

  1. He’s a young-ass child who knows nothing about the real world. He has no idea what he’d be agreeing to, and it probably only sounds nice in theory. It doesn’t matter that he’s legal, being _legal_ doesn’t mean you’re _smart_ , Wade’s proof of that. 
  2. Wade’s a _fucking murderer_ , a murderer who basically coerced the poor scientist into helping him hide a dead body while his nose crinkled in that adorable way it always does when he smells blood. He’s too gory for the university student, and he can’t very well hang up the barrels of .37s, otherwise he can’t pay his bills.
  3. Spider-Man is still gorgeous and not as straight as Wade had assumed. Even if he’s interested in someone else, Wade’s heart is almost as stupid as his head and he’s pretty sure he isn’t over him, or if he’ll ever be. 
  4. The boy’s _normal_ , which probably makes him super appealing. What if Wade’s only attracted to him because of the semblance of normalcy he would give him in his life? That’s not fair to either of them. 
  5. _Wade’s a monster._
  6. Peter could just be experimenting, and knowing Wade, he’ll probably fall too hard, too fast and be left with a beautiful man who has been scarred off ever touching a male ever again, and a broken heart that doesn’t beat properly, and can’t ever stop beating either. (Trust him, he's tried. _Innumerable times)_
  7. Peter’s _in university_ , which means he shouldn’t be dragged into things as crazy as being Deadpool’s boyfriend. He has homework and a job, and from the sounds of it, a really nice aunt who worries very much about him. 
  8. _Wade kills people._
  9. Murderous tendencies aside, he looks disgusting. Dating Peter Parker would be like winning the Most Beautiful Significant Other lottery, but Wade? Wade throws up in his mouth a little every time he sees his own reflection, he can’t imagine having to _wake up to that face_. He avoids mirrors like the plague, and his best days are often ones where he never catches a glimpse of himself. 
  10. Let’s assume for a hot minute that Petey’s a virgin, which, Christ, how could someone that delicious possibly be one? But, for argument’s sake, let’s say his cherry is still ripe and yet to be taken. _Wade fucking Wilson as a first time partner?_ He’d scare him off sex forever. 
  11. _Wade’s a fucking monster who kills people_.
  12. Wade is _not_ the type of person you introduce to your well-meaning, sweater-knitting, aging aunt. He’d probably give the woman a heart attack, and he doesn’t want to do that. Aside from the guilt of killing an old lady, there’s the fact that his popularity with the targeted audience would decrease. There are just some things you can’t forgive.
  13. Wade doesn’t even know _how_ to be a boyfriend, never mind a good one. Peter deserves someone who’ll treat him right, remember anniversaries and birthdays and get him shit that he wants. Wade’s lucky if he’s still got his head by lunch time. He doesn’t do romantic crap. It’s never been one of his strong suits, and he can’t stand the thought of disappointing that adorable brunet. 
  14. Ellie
  15. Wade’s a man in his Goddamn thirties, the age gap between them is more than a decade. He’s pretty sure at that point it gets super creepy. They’d probably look at him and Peter and think the kid was _his_ , and not in the fun way. 
  16. He can’t imagine subjecting that poor, sweet baby boy to something as atrocious as his dick.
  17. Wade’s not even sure he’d be able to get his clothes off. Young people are horny all the time, hell, _Wade’s_ horny all the time. But he's become pretty damn well acquainted with his own hand because he can’t make anyone face genitals as fucked up as his. He’s felt himself before, it’s not exactly a texture you’d enjoy.
  18. Peter’s never seen him without his mask on. There’s no way in hell he can get away with wearing a mask all the time. He doesn’t even know if he’d ever be able to take off his mask in front of him. He can barely walk around his own apartment naked, never mind take off his mask. The extra layers are heavy and make him sweat, but it’s better than being snickered at like mean kids do. There’s no way someone as gorgeous as Peter could stand to have a boyfriend as disgusting as Wade.
  19. Wade’s a fucking monster who murders people _for money_.
  20. There’s a huge possibility that he’s not even _real_ , because he’s gorgeous and beautiful and everything opposite to Wade that would be _so good for him_ and clearly something that beautiful can only be made from the darkest parts of his mind to try and stop him from sending another bullet through the hippocampus. 
  21. Let’s say that it’s pity, and if it’s pity, than Christ, Wade’s never liked it, but he’ll take it. Let’s also assume _somehow_ Wade manages to get his clothes off. He’s pretty sure he’d break that boy’s poor ass, and if they were to do the reverse, which he’s totally not against, then there’s no way Petey could pretend he’s a nice girl who can carry his 2.5 children.
  22. No one should have to deal with the Voices. Wade can barely deal with them, he can’t subject a totally normal human like Peter Parker to the dark parts of his mind. 
  23. If they did get together, they’d eventually break up. It’s the way all of Wade’s relationships have ended, and it never changes. He’s not good enough for them, or they realize that he’s disgusting. They snap out of it eventually, and then Wade’s back to his lonesome self.
  24. And lastly, _Wade’s a fucking murderous monster who kills people for money_.



Still he closes his eyes and imagines what he would taste like.

Innocence, he imagines. Innocence and sweetness.

 **Maybe a little salty,** says the Voices. He has to agree with that one.

He’s made up his mind though, he can’t just ask Peter out. He can’t get the kid mixed up in this sort of shit, but he makes it so hard with his “Don’t panic”s, and “if you were a booger, I’d pick you first”, because _same_ , but at the same time, he can’t just accept it that way because Peter can’t mean it. He’s _Deadpool_ for crying out loud, he’s the way you test if your spandex fetish has any merit, before erasing it from your memory, not the type to bring home to your mother. He’s made his choice then. He can’t bring Peter down into the endless rabbit hole that is Wade’s madness.

Of course, then something happens, and as usual with Wade, it involves blood. His own blood, for a change, but blood all the same.

“Usually I wait till date three before I touch someone’s legs like this,” says Peter casually.

“We could go dutch at a Mexican place I know down on 5th for the first, if you want.” _What the fuck are you doing?_ “I’m classy like that, forward thinking.”

“First what?”

Oh, this is good. He can back out now.

“Date.”

_You had one job._

Peter squirts an impressive amount of polysporn out of the tube, and Wade laughs. It feels good. Feels weightless. Oh great, now he’s like some Nicolas Sparks book that wasn’t good enough to put on the big screen.

“Don’t lube me up till at least date four. But if you ask nicely, I may be persuaded by date two.” He’s wiggling his non-existent eyebrows so hard right now, it would be the sexiest thing on earth, but it actually translates more as _I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing but let’s keep rolling with it._

“I uh, what?”

“If the offer’s still on the table, that is.” Because fuck this. He could try and talk himself out of this terrible idea, but in the end, he’s Wade fucking Wilson, and it’s going to go down in flames, but at least he’ll have fun playing with fire. It’s not like he listens to himself much anyway. That’s one thing he shares in common with everyone.

“Are you nervous?”

“What? Me? As if!”

**You are as clear as water.**

“You are!”

“I’ll have you know I haven’t had to do anything like this for like, the past decade, so excuse me for being a bit rusty. If you reject me too meanly, I’ll break those pretty little glasses of yours, you little shit head.”

_That’s how you win him over, Wilson, making fun of his adorable face._

“Oh, not my glasses!”

He’s too cute. Wade might strangle him to death.

“I’m sure you’d look fly as hell with contacts. Scratch that. Keep the glasses. Take them off, you’ll be like Clark Kent. Wait, wrong universe. Fuck, I’m a traitor. Though it serves DC right for that CGI piece of crap they put on my face …”

Yeah, if he keeps ranting enough, maybe he can convince himself that this weird seduction technique is actually working instead of failing terribly in his face. What do kids like these days anyway? After the disaster that is the DCCU, he’s surprise anyone’s onboard with their Batman reboots. At least Marvel can keep the same cast— ohh, touchy subject for some people well—

“So is this your way of saying you’d be onboard with dating me?”

“So? On the table? Off the table?” He needs to make sure he’s not just putting himself out there to be humiliated because while some people have their kinks, and so does Wade (he could write you a list over a mile long), humiliation is _not_ one of them, surprisingly.

“What about against the wall?”

Oh hell yeah, this is gonna be totally worth it.

“My my, Mr. Petey Pie, you’re a dirty one, aren’t you? Will you still respect me in the morning?”

“Question is, will you respect _me_?”

“See, this is what I like about you, Petey. You bite as much as you bark. And I bite too. Only if you say please, though.”

He loves the sound of his laugh. It may just be the healthiest drug Wade’s ever taken. “Alright. Wade Wilson, will you _please_ go on a date with me?”

**This will go down in flames.**

And maybe it will. It probably will. It most likely will. But it’s not as if Wade’s never taken risks before, and the way Petey’s looking at him all adorable and shy, how can he resist? And even if this is a mistake and it _does_ end terribly, Deadpool’s always been one to go out with a bang.

“Not what I meant but … I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those songs I feel are Wade's anthem, and I really wanted to incorporate it. I'm thinking I should link these songs ... Yeah, I'll start doing that.


	6. Diet Soda Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever noticed how that cloud looks a bit like a rabbit eating its own foot?”
> 
> May the fanfic gods help him, he’s in love with this man.

_The bloody unknown  
_ _My every fear in essence    
_ _This neurotic head makes me believe danger is omnipresent  
_ _And all the crazies talk about how it’s gonna end  
_ _I sit worried sick because I’m starting to believe them  
_ _And I’ve got an ugly little feeling    
_ _The brain is a funny place_

—The Maine, [_Diet Soda Society_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjrGnbdiEtU)

 _  
_He’s late.

He’s fucking late for a very important date, _literally_. Because Petey Parker has decided that little ol’ fucked up Wade Wilson is worth his time and every minute he’s not there, he’s giving Pete more and more reasons to dump his stupid ass before this whole thing even gets started. And he could’ve said he was off doing hero stuff (except he can’t really call what he does heroic), but it’s not, it’s fucking _traffic_ , which is possibly the most mundane excuse that could possibly exist.

He’s all dressed up too. Well, sort of. He’s ditched the suit, though he’s wearing more layers than are recommended for the heat. Gotta cover up that skin though, make him work for it, ammirite? Not that there’s much to look at.

_It’s too early to get depressing._

If he stops to think about it too much, he looks stupid. He’s a grown-ass man ( **debatable** ) wearing baggy pants and combat boots, and a red hoodie (because he looks damn good in red, and also, because in case he had to unalive someone before this shindig, he didn’t want it to show) with the hood pulled over a snapback, which were so last … whenever those were popular. And then there’s the mask.

He looks like a serial killer. Which, granted, he _is_ , but it’s okay if he gets caught. It’s not like he can ruin his reputation any more than it is, and— oh dear, Peter’s going to be ruined just by association. He considers telling the cabbie ( **what are we, in Britain?** ) to turn back around. He’ll strangle him in some alleyway, it’s not like they could lift prints off his burnt-ass fingers, but then he gets a text.

_Take your time._

Okay. He can do this.

_Breathe Wilson._

If some magazine saw him, would they put him on that page that was like “celebrities: down to earth or diva?”, or the “stars are just like you!” page. As if anyone would put his ugly mug on a spread. Maybe the “Keeping up with ugly freaks of nature”.

Looking out the window, there’s a sea of cars.

_Fuck this._

Wade throws the appropriate amount of money at the taxi driver, maybe a bit more.

“Give me back my change, not now though, I gotta get going, but I will know if you don’t pay me back,” he warns, before he opens the door into traffic and runs over the cars like he’s in some kind of third act of an 80s romcom.

 _She’s All That_ wasn’t all that bad, no matter what the critics say. He definitely played an unhealthy amount of hacky sack, and it may have gotten him laid once or twice.

He finds the appropriate coffee shop and practically cartwheels through the door, which, now that he thinks about it, was a bit much, especially because the woman at the cash is looking at him like he belongs in a mental institution.

**Oh, you don’t even know half of it.**

Peter Parker hands the stunned cashier his money and then it’s as if Wade’s being guided out of the coffee shop as though this is totally normal and no one is confused (Wade included).

When the bell announces their departure, Wade opens his mouth to ask _what the fuck just happened_ when Peter bursts out laughing and Wade learns a little known fact about the scientist.

Peter Parker laughs like a madman. Not in the head tossed back, holding your stomach laughter with the occasional snorting sound, which _does_ happen, and it’s totally adorable. It’s not even one of those _I must lean on something because my knees can’t support me_ kind of laugh. It’s a genuine _my knees have actually buckled so I’m starting to turn into goo on the floor_ kind of laugh, and his body convulses like he’s having a seizure, and his chest vibrates with the noise and Wade is smiling, looking at the dork that is Peter Parker on the ground, laughing his head off like he’s about to scream _It’s alive!_ and everything is perfect.

**Which means this can’t be real.**

Wade frowns slightly. He doesn’t want to think of it like that, because can’t he have _one nice thing_? So he pushes the thought aside and waits for Peter to get a hold of himself.

When he does, the brunet coughs into his fist sheepishly. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just, the look on their faces?” He giggles. “Anyway, I was thinking we’d do something different from just getting coffee. You wouldn’t be able to sit in a booth for too long anyway, right?”

“I—”

**Admit it. You would die if you had to stay still for more than half an hour. Doesn’t matter what kind of company you’d have.**

“I mean, yes.”

“Hey, it’s not a problem,” says Peter. “More fun for me, anyway. I don’t know how you like your coffee though, so I didn’t get you any. Didn’t want to chance fucking it up.” It feels weird to see such an innocent face say such vulgar words. Wade likes it. “But a little birdie told me you like chimichangas, so …” He pulls out a brown paper bag from his schoolbag and shakes it. “Figured I’d stop by and get you some.”

“Are you an angel?”

Peter laughs. Wade is quickly getting addicted to that sound. “Hardly. But I figured we could walk and talk, we can multi-task.”

“Talk about what?”

“Anything. Everything.” Peter shrugs. “Whatever you want to talk about. Get to know each other, with less blood involved.”

_This sounds more like a hangout than a date—_

“Oh no, dude, I’m still totally into you.” Peter takes a sip of his coffee and almost herds Wade in a certain direction, down the sidewalk and past a few intersections. “I just figured we should be friends first, yeah? Besides, you look like someone who could unload.”

_Don’t—_

**Oh, I’ll unload on you baby boy. Just tell me where you want it.**

_—There it is._

**Whoop! C’mon, it was too prefect to pass up.**

_Ugh, I hate that you’re right._

“So this _is_ a date?”

“Uh, yeah.” The scientist plays with the glasses on the bridge fo his nose and frowns. “I mean. If you want it to be.”

_Oh hell yes, we want._

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

They fall into silence, though not true silence. The Voices don’t know how to be silent. And New York doesn’t know how to be quiet. So really, it’s just them not talking to each other for a while, and then—

“So there’s this guy in my stats class—”

“I had this job down in Mexico—”

The two freeze.

“You can go first.”

“Nah, you go first.”

**Are we twelve now?**

“I doubt you want to know about the whole … job thing, I do. Tell me about this guy in your stats class. Is he as impressive as I am?”

Peter frowns.

_Oh no, don’t do that! You look adorable that way, but don’t do that!_

“You can tell me anything you want, Wade. You don’t have to censor around me. I’m young, but I’m not a child. I told you, I know what you do. You’re a merc, you kill people. I’m okay with that.”

Wade raises an eyebrow, though it doesn’t exist and wouldn’t be able to be seen through the suit.

“Okay, well, no, I’m not. Morally, it’s wrong. I don’t think it’s good, but I mean, you don’t intentionally kill _good_ people. And it’s your job, but it doesn’t _define_ you. Do you think Death likes their job?”

**Well on some days, yeah, she does.**

But Wade doesn’t say that. He shrugs. “You asked.”

So he tells Peter about the perp he chased across the Mexican boarder, who finally took her last breath in Peru. It had been some weird mafia boss, from one of the old families, or rather, who got mixed up in the old families. She had wanted to start her own empire, which is never a good idea in this day and age.

“Should’ve invested in Bitcoin,” Wade finishes with a shrug. “Though, with how fickle the market is, you never know what you’re gonna get.”

“S’like a box of chocolates,” says Peter and Wade could _kiss him_ but he doesn’t because he’s just told a fairly gruesome story about a woman who had her left lung punctured and whose shoulder probably has teeth marks in it, which almost makes it sound like he got up to some nasty business up in her business, without even flinching, and the wind is ruffling the student’s hair and this is all too perfect, so it can’t be real.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well, now the guy in stats’ who tried to snort coffee beans is much less interesting in comparison.”

Wade asks if the guy succeeded, because everything Peter tells him is interesting and he loves the sound of his voice. It almost sounds familiar to him, how soothing it is.

They end up near Central Park, because “we can’t skip _all_ the clichés,” and take a seat on a park bench, watching some pigeons fight each other for some discarded Mars wrapper.

He doesn’t touch Peter. He _can’t_ touch him.

Because Peter isn’t _real_.

Though he has to congratulate his imagination because this is a new kind of metaphysical torture scheme the boxes have cooked up because sitting next to him on this bench with the peeling paint _feels_ real.

It took a long time to coordinate this, almost two weeks since the initial request, which Wade is still pretty sure he made up. His schedule never syncs up well with the university student’s because _of course it fucking doesn’t, he’s a mercenary, not some normal ass man with a nine to five job._

“Hey, you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You seem lost in your head.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot. It’s a big place,” says the mutant with a shrug. “Can’t always be using this mouth to talk.” He gazes at the pigeon he has named Roberto in his head. He appears to be winning the ever-going battle for the sugary treat.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about. Grown up stuff.”

Peter does not look impressed. Neither is Wade, to be honest.

“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t talk down like that.” He takes another sip of his coffee and tilts his head up towards the sky, looking at the clouds. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool and all. By the way, have you ever noticed how that cloud looks a bit like a rabbit eating its own foot?”

May the fanfic gods help him, he’s in love with this man.

“Really?” Wade looks up at where Peter’s gesturing. “I always thought it was more like a submarine that’s gotten the Michael Bay treatment and is trying to self-destruct.”

The brunet tilts his head. “Oh, I see it now! What about that one? Seems like a binicorn with skates on.”

“Like for the pavement, or ice?”

“Does it matter?”

“It always matters.”

The student wrinkles his nose in thought. “Ice. Definitely ice.”

They go on like that, cloud watching, pointing out the shapes in the sky. ( _“I’m telling you Wade, that one is totally a Rodent of Unusual Size,” “and I’m telling_ you _, Petey, it’s what shape Dean Winchester’s car would take if it became an animal”)._ By the end of it, Wade’s eaten his whole chimichanga, Peter’s finished his cup of coffee and they’ve moved from the bench to the grass.

It’s almost as if the universe is smiling down on them, without any screams of terror or immediate threats on their lives, they’re free to discuss the homo-erotic undertones of _Star Trek_ to their heart’s content.

“Look, I’m not saying the reboot isn’t gay, it is. But the original series was a thousand times gayer.”

“But when Nimoy shows up in the cave, he like, literally tells Kirk that he and Spock’s friendship transcends dimensions, timelines, and universes. You don’t get much gayer than that.”

“May I present to you _Amok Time_? The canonical, _original_ fuck or die trope with a little alpha/omega dynamics thrown in for good measure?”

Peter turns to him, the blades of grass brushing against his face. He’s smiling, and it’s blinding. **This is where a cheesy author mentions something about Icarus.** “You’re insane, Wade Wilson.”

“I get that a lot.”

Suddenly, Peter’s phone rings, because of course it rings. Why would Wade continue to get this wonderful treatment? It’s probably reality coming to smack some sense into the boy.

“Hey, Wade, I’ve gotta go,” says Peter and fuck him, he sounds like he’s actually sad to leave. “But raincheck?”

“Sure,” Wade says, though he doubts it. This is just science-boy being nice to him, which his, you know, _nice_ , but still hurts all the same. He’s got a few bullets with his name on them, though he had been hoping he wouldn’t need them.

“Right. So I’m just going to go …” Peter bites his lip, frowning. “Can I … uh …” He reaches outwards, as if to touch Wade, as if he can, as if he isn’t the sweetest torture created by his mind to date. _Heh. To date._ “Could I … _may_ I kiss … you?”

There’s definitely something wrong with how much it turns him on that Peter knows the difference between “can” and “may”.

Well, it appears he’s in _super deep_ this special hellhole. He _knows_ it’s a dream, because why else would Petey want any of _this_ disaster?

He nods, and Peter reaches out with his hands and then his fingers are brushing the sides of his mask, and it _feels so real_ , Wade leans into the touch. The beautiful fingers of the scientist stop at the end of his mask. “Can I …? Just a little,” Peter says. “I just want to …” He blushes. “Erm, we don’t have to, it’s just date number one, so …”

If this is the most convincing illusion the Voices can work up for him, he’ll be damned if he lets his insecurities get the best of him, and ruin a chance to kiss the beautiful boy.

“Okay.”

It’s torturous, the way the mask slowly rolls upwards, catching on scars. The merc holds in a wince several times as it goes over the rough texture of his skin, but Peter is slow and patient. He doesn’t flinch at the scars and blemishes, or the strange dermis that is Wade’s complexion. He lifts the mask up slowly till Wade’s upper lip, keeping as much concealed as possible before he lifts himself up on his toes, and their lips meet.

**Bow chicawow— ow!**

_Don’t ruin this._

Wade stays as still as a rock, and he wishes he could feel Peter better, but his sensory nerves are fucked up, but he can feel his breath so close to him and the pressure is the most gentle touch he’s ever received. Everything has always been rough and hard with Wade, this is gentle, innocent. Peter’s hands frame the side of his mask, his body teeters forward, his Chuck Taylor sneakers much better than any Cinderella shoe, and when he goes back down to his regular height of three inches shorter than Wade, the Merc with a Mouth has no words.

Peter bites his lip, the lip that touched Wade’s, and looks down, blushing furiously. “I uh …” He coughs into his sleeve. “I really should get going.” He reaches up and his hands carefully pull the mask back down, covering the scarred face of the ex-military man. “I had a good time though. I’d be down for a date two, if you … y’a know … if you’d be interested.”

_Answer him, idiot!_

“ _Oui_. I mean, yes. _Sì_. 10/10, would date again.”

Peter chuckles, and it’s not that mad, crazy laugh, more of a subdued laugh that makes Wade wonder what he has to do to get the boy to cackle again. “Alright. I really do have to leave though now, so I’ll text you. See when you’re next available. And try not to break the phone again, alright?”

“Wasn’t my fault.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

And he sounds like he means it.

When Wade gets back to his apartment with the blood stains on the walls, and the katanas on display and the bullets on the kitchen table, he pulls his gun from beneath his pillow and checks the barrel.

Laying on his bed, he shoots three times around the blood on the white wall.

Looks like a fucked up smiley face.

Even if Peter _is_ an illusion, he’s the most convincing hallucination. He’ll gladly live in his mind if he can get another one of Peter Parker’s beautiful kisses.


	7. DRAMA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So … Peter fucked up.
> 
> Which, really, isn’t like, headline breaking news or anything. As a young adult, it is part of the unwritten, yet totally official contract of adult-ing that you must— and will— fuck up enough times to regret your date of birth. Ever since the Bite the amount of fuck-ups in Peter’s life has drastically increased, and shows no signs of going down, but _this_? _This_ has to be the biggest fuck-up to date and that’s saying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit everyone's been wondering about!

_Recently he said, that she said, that we said some shit that you wouldn’t believe  
_ _Recently he said that she said that we said that he said some shit about me  
_ _So we’re caught up in drama (Everybody’s talking, Everybody’s talking)_

—AJR, _Drama_

So … Peter fucked up.

Which, really, isn’t like, headline breaking news or anything. As a young adult, it is part of the unwritten, yet totally official contract of adult-ing that you must— and will— fuck up enough times to regret your date of birth. Ever since the Bite the amount of fuck-ups in Peter’s life has drastically increased, and shows no signs of going down, but _this_? _This_ has to be the biggest fuck-up to date and that’s saying something.

His phone is lighting up with notifications. Nat, Steve, Tony, Bruce, fucking _everyone_ is texting him, saying the merc has crashed in through the window, demanding to see him. Fury is … well, furious.

Collapsing on his bed, Peter shields his eyes with his arm and breathes in deeply.

He almost wants to laugh because _how the fuck did he end up in this situation?_

He had been avoiding homework, like any university student, when Tony had texted him. Said there was something super important going on near Wall Street, as if there wasn’t _always_ something important happening on Wall Street, but he jumped out the window anyway after suiting up.

The baddies weren’t even all that bad, but of _course_ things took a turn south, because when did they ever not?

_  
“On your left, Spider-Man!”_

_Shooting a web in the direction Hawkeye told him, his efforts were rewarded with a gruntas the attacker fell to the ground. Swinging from a tree, he tried to get a higher view of the situation. It wasn’t so much that they were difficult opponents, as there was so many of them._

_He aimed at another of latest experiments gone wrong from one of the many disastrous science companies in New York (honestly, he wasn’t sure why they kept getting funding when there was a break-in or explosion every other week), when his target was swept off their feet literally by a familiar black and red suit._

_“Deadpool?!”_

_“Spidey!” greeted the infamous mutant. “How’s it hanging?”_

_“Really?”_

_“Overused pun?”_

_It was times like these, when he found Wade’s stupid jokes to be endearing rather than irritating, while in the presence of the Avengers, that he was grateful for his mask. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Same as you.”_

_BANG!_

_One of the targets fell to its side. “Helping out a bit. Felt like playing ‘good samaritan’.”_

  
Everything kind of went to hell after that. Partly because the Merc was there, but mostly because he was pumped full of adrenaline and wasn’t thinking straight so when the final enemy fell, Peter had a moment of pure stupidity.

He kissed Deadpool.

Technically, this isn’t a problem. It’s not their first kiss. They have been seeing each other for the past two weeks, though there’s still the looming question of when date number two will be finalized. Wade’s been dropping by the lab to check on Peter, to talk and keep him company,before being carefully shoved out the window whenever Tony comes by, and he’s snuck in a few other cheek kisses. On one notable occasion, he got a kiss on the forehead.

Point is: Wade’s kissed Peter’s forehead and now, as far as the mutant knows, some unknown man in spandex had just planted one on him.

So of course Peter did the smart thing and ran.

As one of the only heroes in New York to maintain a secret identity, complications are bound to arise. He knows he should’ve told Wade, but when compared to Spider-Man, Peter Parker doesn’t even hold a candle, which doesn’t make sense, especially since they’re the same person, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way. More like he shares a body with a much more suave version of himself, one who knows witty comebacks and doesn’t choke on his own spit whenever someone calls him “cute”, on the rare occasion such a thing even happens.

In the end, he’s going to prefer Spider-Man.

He always has.

And while that’s kind of great, it means he doesn’t really like Peter. Not that he can blame him. The whole superhero thing may be the only thing he’s got going for him. Behind the mask he’s such a disaster, he’d be lucky if anyone considered him date-worthy. 

He awaits the break-up text, though he’s not sure if it’s a break-up if they’ve just been on one date, and don’t hold the title of “boyfriend”. He’s not losing anything, not really. Not a title, not a place in Wade’s life. The Merc will still flirt with Spidey, but … Oh, he’s going to have to shut him down. He’ll be so disappointed when he finds out who he is, and it’s not like he can just date someone with a mask on forever, though he would if he could. The mask transforms him into a better version of himself. 

He can’t be the one to end it. Maybe that makes him a masochist.

Heh. A sadist and masochist. He and Wade really are meant to be in that fucked up way that always works in the movies, but never in real life.

His phone rings.

Taking a deep breath, he presses _answer_.

“Hey, Petey?”

The student gulps. He’s not ready for this— whatever “this” is— to end, but he knows it will. It has to. And then he’ll have to cut his ties with Wade as Spider-Man too, and that’s a whole other kind of pain, because Peter’s pretty sure Wade is one of his only friends with superpowers. He never feels right with Tony, or Steve. They’re great and all, but they don’t understand him. Maybe it’s because the mutant’s a child trapped in a bodybuilder, but he makes him feel at ease unlike anyone else. Kinda of concerning considering the man’s impressive gun collection. As both a euphemism and a literal fact.

“Yeah?”

“I have something to tell you.” He sounds pretty upset. He wants to scream that he’s not allowed to be, that it’s _Peter’s_ heart that’s crashing to the floor, but he bites his lip, letting out a sound of acknowledgement. “You see …” _Like a band-aid, rip it off._ Peter’s always known Wade to be morally grey, the Canadian has never been coy about his bullet-holed record, but this is a new level of cruel. “The thing is— are you okay?”

Peter swallows down a whimper. Of course he’s concerned about him, because Wade fucking Wilson, for all his chimichangas and swear words is an honest to God good person, no matter what he thinks. He kind of wishes the man was an asshole. It would certainly make this easier.

“Yeah.”

“The fuck you are.”

Pinching his nose, the brunet takes several deep breaths. “What did you have to tell me, Wade?”

“Hey, you’re not okay, baby boy. One thing at a time. I don’t usually focus well, but shit, you sound like a wreck. What’s going on?” He sounds so concerned because Deadpool is much nicer than anyone has ever given him credit for. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Yes, and my drag name is Deep End Summers.”

“Is it?”

“No, it’s Blue Blazen Balls, but that’s not the point!” There’s movement on the other end followed by the sound of a gunshot. “Sorry, some fucker just laughed at my name. As if he could do better.” 

_So he’s in some alleyway on a job then._

“Do you want me to come over? Wait, I don’t know where you live … which, you should take to mean my stalker tendencies have gotten less severe, so really I should get an applause for that. But anyway, this feels like one of those moments where the author’s trying to segue to me being on your balcony like this is some Romeo and Juliet bullshit, so I’m on my way.”

“But—”

“Nope, the Fanfic Gods have spoken, I’m coming. I’ll find you, somehow. Ooh, that sounded romantic in my head, but now feels more like a rejected _Every Breath You Take_ lyric. I’m just turning this whole call into a disaster. Be there as fast as the author wants me to be.”

The dial tone sounds.

Seems he’s not catching a break today.

He plans it out in his head, what he’s going to say, how he’s going to react. As much as he doesn’t want to, he’s probably going to cry, so he tries to make himself cry before Wade gets here. Get it over with and all that. Maybe if he cries enough, he’ll get so tired he just passes out and they’ll have a rain check.

Though all that does is prolong the inevitable.

Because his eyeballs are stubborn assholes, he can’t trigger tears on command, so instead he listens to music, trying to drown out the rest of the world as he tries to get his shit together.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a familiar mask suddenly presses up against his window.

“Petey!”

Unlatching the window, he rolls his eyes. “Didn’t feel like breaking in?”

“What kind of person would I be if I destroyed my bae’s property? Oooh, is that _Hamilton_? Saw it with this blonde chick. Stopped her from jumping. It was a good, sentimental issue. Check it out, remember my humanity every now and then even when I can’t.”

Sometimes Peter has no idea what Wade talks about, but he’s going to miss the confusion and excitement that comes whenever he hears his open his mouth.

“You haven’t been crying.”

It’s not a question.

“No.”

“But you tried to. Who made you wanna cry? And were they sad tears, or like, I’m pissed as all hell tears?”

Peter moves to the side and gestures for the man to come in instead of dangling outside like some 2002 superhero in the rain. The mercenary tumbles in, before standing upright and putting his hands on his hips like he’s posing for a photoshoot or something.

“No one. You wanted to talk?”

“I …” Wade frowns. “This is kind of complicated, and you don’t look like you’re in a good position to hear it—”

“I’m nineteen, not a baby.”

“I know that, I just …” He plays with his gloved fingers. There are darkened areas of his suit. He wonders how bloody Wade is. How well the red covers the bloodstains. “Okay, I’m going to tell you now, and then we’re gonna get back to the whole, you trying to make yourself cry, okay? Cause you’re absolutely beautiful and you’d still be beautiful with puffy eyes, but I’d prefer if they weren’t, got that?”

He nods, because what else can he do?

“Okay. So, the thing I meant to tell you over the phone, which, now that I think about it, it was douchey to think I could do it over the phone, cause I mean, I’m an asshole, but I’m not _that_ much of an asshole, so here we go.” Wade takes a deep breath, and then—

_“ImayhavekissedsomeoneelsebutittotallywasntmyfaulthecameontomewhichcanyoubelievewhenIlooklikethisbutithappenedandImreallysorrypleasedontkillmeevenifIcantdieitwouldstilltotallysucktonotdieonmyownterms.”_

Peter blinks. 

“ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?”

Wade tilts his head. “Was there something else I should’ve been concerned with?”

“I mean … well …”

“You okay there?”

“I just …” 

This is not going the way Peter predicted. Because of course it isn’t. It’s _Wade_. It’s foolish to assume the Canadian follows any of the normal laws of how relationships work.

“Now, why were you crying? Or not crying. Or trying to cry, and not succeeding?”

“Er …” He’s too shocked to do much else than stare so he blinks a few times and then mutters something about forgetting it. He’ll tell him later.

Or rather, Wade’ll break up with him later.

Seems he’s getting that rain check after all.

  
It’s been a few days, and Wade still hasn’t broken up with him. Or, ended whatever they are.

He’s waiting for the ball to drop, and it’s an anxiety that eats at him. It’s disrupting his sleep schedule and Tony’s starting to notice. He’s lucky he hasn’t actually swung right into a building, though at this rate, he expects it to happen soon.

He’s on night patrol when Deadpool turns up, swords in each hand, though they don’t look nearly as bloody as usual.

“You got a job?”

“Yeah,” says Wade. “Mind helping me with it?”

“I don’t kill—”

“Not the kind of job I was talking about.”

And then the swords are in their sheaths and he’s walking closer to the brunet at a speed that’s achingly slow, but also alarmingly fast and he’s pressed up against an alleyway.

“What are you— _omph!_ ”

Deadpool is kissing him.

He’s got his hands on his head, holding him in place, a leg positioned right at his crotch as if to keep him from running. As if he can do anything other than stand there, stupefied. Their lips glide over each other, and Peter hates how easily he melts into it, how hard he tries to memorize it because this is probably the last kiss he’s going to get before Wade decides to end things with Peter to start something with Spider-Man, and he’ll have to stop that and—

Thinking is overrated when you’re making out with Wade fucking Wilson.

The kiss feels like an eternity, and a nanosecond all at once. 

“Hey, Petey.”

It takes way too long for his brain to catch up with the words coming out of the Canadian’s mouth, but when they finally do, he tries to back himself up and hits a literal wall. 

“Er, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Took too long a pause for that to be even remotely convincing.” He grins, stepping closer, if possible. “Listen, I get why you didn’t tell me. Secret identities? Those are important, when you have someone you want to protect. I don’t have anything like that so … you know, s’why I’m public. But you … shit, you’ve got a whole life outside of this.”

“Wade, I—”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I know I’ve got a gob, but I can keep it shut for the right price. And lucky you, you don’t have to pay a cent. Also, if you want to er … end this, or whatever, cause it’s getting a bit complicated, that’s fine too.

“I mean, the voices are telling me it’s not, but ignore them. Must be easier, since you can’t hear ‘em.”

He’s kind of speechless, but he manages to choke out one word. “How?”

“How what?”

“How’d you know … how’d you know it was me?”

“Would it sound cheesy if I said it was your kiss?” Wade shakes his head. “Doesn’t really matter if you think it is, cause it’s basically what happened. I’m not dumb, contrary to what others seem to think. I’ve got deductive skills to kick Holmes’ ass. Metaphorically. And the strength to do it physically. So do you, since he’s fictional and all.”

They fall into silence.

It’s clearly killing Wade, who keeps hopping from one foot to another, unsure of what to do with himself.

“So, no pressure or anything, but what to do … about … us. If there’s an us. If there ever was an us. If there’s still an us after the author turns my silver tongue into copper— oh that’s bad. Think of better shit, I’m trying to seduce fucking Spider-Man!”

Peter’s small smile falls. “Right. Spider-Man.”

Wade cocks his head to the side. “Huh?”

“You want Spider-Man.”

“Er, yes. Unless you misinterpreted me slamming you against a wall and molesting your face. Which, I realize I shouldn’t have done because consent. Just cause you let me do it before does not mean you’d let me do it in the future. And if I had been wrong, that would’ve been _really_ embarrassing—”

“What about Peter?”

“Do you refer to yourself in the third person too? I’m not the only one who does that—”

“No, I mean what about _Peter_. You want Spider-Man. But how do you feel about Peter?”

It takes a while, but slowly realization seems to dawn in the white slits of the mask. “You think … oh. Okay. Give me a second while I figure out how to word this in a way that makes sense, alright?”

Wade takes a few deep breaths.

“It’s like this. I like Spider-Man. You _know_ I like Spider-Man. And who wouldn’t? He’s cool and confident and sassy as hell, and he gets my type of dark humour. He’s dry and sarcastic, not to mention has a fantastic ass. But I don’t _know_ Spider-Man. I liked what I saw, and trust me, I still like it.

“But you? Peter, you’re _real_. Spider-Man disappears once the city’s safe, but you stay. You’re awkward and shy, and you’ve got this adorable laugh, and you’re _brilliant_. Don’t think I miss how geniuses flock together, there’s a reason Stark likes you.

“Spider-Man is there for _everyone_. He’s there for New York. Peter Parker … you’re here for me. And I like that. A lot. It’s kind of a bonus you turned out to be the same person, but Spider-Man was hero worship. You’re … I don’t know. _Not_ that. You’re deeper. 

“I like you, the person behind the mask. I also happen to like you in the mask. But there aren’t two of you, there’s just _you_. And you’re kind of amazing, if you haven’t read your own serial? Am I making any sense? I’m probably not—”

“No, you are. Sort of.” Peter laughs nervously. “Anyone ever tell you you’re crazy?”

The mutant shrugs. “Every now and again. Question is, are you gonna follow me into insanity, Peter?”

Oh. No pet names. This is serious.

It’s frightening too. His secret identity is something he’s held onto for his own sanity. Humbled himself with it, made sure he could balance his life out. So he didn’t have to sacrifice anything. Letting the Merc know about it feels like a huge step. A bigger step than admitting he likes him.

“Yeah. I think I will.”

It doesn’t feel as scary as it’s supposed to.


	8. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You always ruin things for yourself._
> 
> No, he always ruins _things_. Plain and simple.
> 
> And he can’t ruin Peter Parker, he just can’t. Because the world needs Spider-Man, and the world is infinitely more important than one lonely Wade Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Just a reminder, Peter is 19, the title is NOT a reference to his age, but rather a song. Also, those who read it as a one-shot, it's got an extra line in it now so it makes more sense given this timeline.

_So if you wanna piss off your parents  
_ _date me to scare them  
_ _show them you’re all grown up  
_ _if long hair and tattoos are what attract you  
_ _baby then you’re in luck  
_ _and I know it’s just a phase  
_ _you’re not in love with me  
_ _you wanna piss of your parents, baby  
_ _that’s all right with me  
_ —Anarbor, _18_

  
Peter Parker is sitting on his couch, cross-legged with a laptop on his person. Surrounded by snacks, wiping taco shells off his keyboard, he looks up to greet Wade with that boyish grin of his and Wade hurts inside.

_How long can he keep this up?_

“The wi-fi sucks,” says Peter in greeting.

“Where’d you get wi-fi from?”

“Stole it from the neighbours,” Peter replies casually. “Their password is _password_ , I kid you not.”

“I believe you.” Wade chuckles, and drops his ammo on the kitchen table. There are sprinkles of Peter everywhere. The milk is no longer expired, the placement of shit in the cupboards. He has his own mug (it says _Stark Industries_ , to Wade’s displeasure), and some of his clothes are starting to take place in Wade’s closet.

_This needs to stop._

“Hey Petey?”

The college student hmms in response.

Wade wipes his hands on his spandex pants. _Don’t do this_ , the voices say. Because of course, why would he do this? This is perfect. He’s got his own pocket-Spidey to himself, sitting in his living room like he owns it, like he _belongs_ there, which he _does_. But he’s not supposed to.

_You always ruin things for yourself._

No, he always ruins _things_. Plain and simple.

And he can’t ruin Peter Parker, he just can’t. Because the world needs Spider-Man, and the world is infinitely more important than one lonely Wade Wilson.

This has been great, a few weeks like this ( _three weeks, four days, eight hours, twenty-three minutes, and thirty-nine seco— forty, forty-one, forty-two_ ) but Wade has to draw the line somewhere, because he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t put his foot down now, he won’t ever.

He hates being grown-up.

“Wade?”

Peter’s on the move and he's got nowhere to hide. Not that it’d even be easy to hide, with his outfit, and the mask, and literally _everything_ about him.

The brunet pokes his head inside the kitchen. “Hey, Wade. What’s up?”

_Don’t—_

“You should leave.”

_No, no, don’t make that face!_

“Why?” Peter sounds so small. He shouldn’t. He’s larger than life.

Wade bites his lip. It’s not comfortable with the fabric of the suit, and he really shouldn’t do that sort of thing while he’s in it. Which means he shouldn’t really ever be biting his lip. “Go home.”

Peter wraps his hoodie closer to himself. _Shit, it’s mine. When did he get his hands on it?_

“Do you … not want me here anymore?”

“No! No, Baby Boy, it’s not that at all!” If it was up to Wade, he’d probably shut Peter in a room somewhere no one could find him, board up the doors with nails and hammers, probably add some elaborate Rube Goldberg invention to stop anyone in their tracks if they ever so much as touched the doorknob. He’d _Home Alone_ the shit out of the place.

“Then … why?”

_Because I’m bad for you? Because you’re so young, and you have so much to offer the world and I’m just going to drag you down to my hell? Because you have a bright future, and you risk that the more time you spend with me. Because you don’t flinch when I polish my swords, or when I turn up with blood on the front of my shirt, or think a thing of it when you hear bullets going off. People run away from danger, Petey, you’ve stopped doing that a long time ago. You should leave because I think I’m falling in love with you, and I know you can’t feel like that about me._

“You should just go.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Wade blinks. He doesn’t think Peter can see it behind the pure-white eye sockets of the suit. “What?”

“Are you trying to break up with me? Cause you’re shit at it,” says Peter, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, and he looks sexy and youthful and _beautiful_ , and Wade wants to touch, but he knows Peter will crumble before his eyes. “I mean, not that we’ve technically put a label on this or anything, but like … Listen, is this because you don’t feel comfortable? Are we going too fast? Is it because I take up too much room on your couch?”

“No, it’s not—”

“Is this because I’m young? Because you think I don’t know any better? Because you’re not the first person I’ve dated—”

“I know that, Spidey, it’s just—”

“You’re the first guy I’ve dated,” Peter finishes.

Wade nods.

Peter pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. Wade will pull it for him.

“You’re thinking stupid things again, aren’t you? I don’t like calling them stupid thoughts, I really don’t, because that means you waste your time on things that don’t matter, but if they matter to you, of course they’re important.” Peter digs his foot into the ground, into the tile. He’s wearing a pair of sneakers, worn out and dirty. And Wade is sure that high school students still wear them. It’s like he’s being swallowed by Wade’s clothes.

“I’m going to try and read your mind, okay?” Suddenly, and there’s that fire in his eyes that Wade loves so much, and also, _fuck Leonardo di Caprio_ for stealing that line from him. Wade says it better. “Because I can shoot webs out of my wrists, so I can probably take a guess at what you’re thinking.

“You’re thinking I’m too young, that I don’t know anything. You think that because I’ve been traumatized, clearly I’m coping in weird ways. You’re thinking that, oh no, he’s in his rebellious phase. He’s doing stupid shit he’ll regret in fifteen years because what better way to stick it to them than to date a murderous mercenary who swears profoundly and is most certainly going to ruin my innocence.

“You’re thinking I’m going to wake up one day and realize I don’t want you and that everything we’ve done is a mistake, even though I can’t think that because you’ve acted like I have the _bubonic plague_ since we first started dating! Since that first date, since you found out, you’ve been treating me like you don’t even know me, like I’m a parasite in your home and you’re just waiting for the exterminator to get rid of me already.”

_No, I didn’t mean to do that._

**But you did. And you fucked up. Like you always do.**

“Is this because I’m Spider-Man? Or is it because I’m Peter? You said you liked Peter, but maybe—”

“No, it’s not that,” Wade says quickly. He can still barely believe that beautiful Peter Parker is the same person as Spider-Man, that he’s so lucky to have fallen for someone who he doesn’t have to worry about, who can take care of himself, but at the same time it feels too _unreal_. It seems _too_ perfect. And Wade may not be a genius, but he knows better than to trust something that seems to be too good to be true.

“Then what is it? Because if you’ve been treating me like shit to try and get me to leave, then it doesn’t work. I’m still here! Clearly there must be something wrong with me, yeah? But, news flash! Wade Wilson, you aren’t nearly as evil a human being as you think you are. You put blankets over me when I fall asleep and prepare enough food for two, and you’ve given up your bed for me too many times to count! You sing in the shower and I like that! I like _you_ —”

“BUT YOU DON’T!”

Peter’s voice drops low, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me what I feel—”

“But you _can’t_!”

“You’re not nearly as unloveable as you think you are, Wade!”

“ _You’re not real!_ ”

Peter blinks. “What?”

“I mean, yes, of course I think you’re too young to make up your mind about anything. Of course I don’t trust your judgement, and _obviously_ I think I’m bad for you! I put three bullets in a guy’s head today, just because! And that guy’s head was _mine_! I’m not good for _anyone_ , and even more so because I’m absolutely certain you’re a figment of my imagination— oof!”

Petey packs a good punch.

“Can an illusion do that?” He looks so satisfied, with a little smirk on his lips.

Wade’s never enjoyed pain more (and that’s saying something). He straightens himself up ( _ha, straight!_ ). “You couldn’t have gone with a kiss? Be a bit more romantic?”

The brunet rolls his eyes. “Right, because romanticism would’ve gotten through to you.”

“It might’ve.”

“It wouldn’t’ve.” Peter sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Do you just … not want me? I’ll let you go if that’s it, I don’t want to force you—”

“I don’t want to force _you_ ,” Wade interrupts. “I just … don’t know.”

“Okay.” Peter pushes himself off the wall and steps closer. With each step he takes, Wade forgets to breathe. “How about we figure it out together? Does that sound good to you?”

Wade is still absolutely sure that Peter is a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s punched himself, but if this is an illusion and everything is made up, he’s okay with that. He’s always been slightly off the handle, and this is nothing less than that.

“Can we not … can we not put labels on this?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Peter says. “Let’s start over. Hi, my name is Peter Benjamin Parker. My hobbies include photography, intense video gaming, and swinging from roofs using webs I shoot from my veins as support. Nice to meet you.”

Wade is used to being fast. To jumping on top of things the instant they happen. He’s used to running, running until he can’t breathe, and quick clicks of the trigger. He’s used to a fast-paced world.

He’ll gladly slow it all down with Peter by his side.

“Wade Winston Wilson. My hobbies include competing in chimichanga eating contest, verbally sexually harassing Spider-Man, and unaliving people. Pleasure’s all mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com/)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!  
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!


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